Part 5 of the ongoing story. Earlier parts can be found here:
Part 1
Part 2
Part 3
Part 4
* * *
Wendel roused me from my sleep, and I went through the morning routine in a fug. It wasn’t until I noticed the lack of sunlight that I realized why I was still half asleep. I stumbled through the pre-dawn gloom, relying heavily on Wendel to steer me around unseen obstacles. The only people who looked to be awake were the sentries on duty and a dozen or so men who were assembling by the southern edge of our camp. My father was the first one I recognized. Mainly because the garnet glow of his ring lit him up like a beacon. The only thing that ring did was glow on command. He raised a finger to his lips and whispered.
“We don’t want to wake up too much of the camp.”
“So we’re starting?” I asked.
“Lets get out into the woods before we talk too much.” He handed me the reins of my horse, and I climbed into the saddle. Boughs slapped my face in the dark as we rode away from the camp. I kept an arm raised to avoid having my eyes poked out by a twig. We emerged into a small clearing where the grasses only reached the horses’ knees. The breeze took that moment to push enough of the clouds aside from the moon that I could see the men around me. King Alvar was there, with Gentian and two of his bodyguard, both of which wore bear hide cloaks. Hermann was there, with his Skald, and two knights bearing the emblem of the Order of Dragonslayers. Peter had three attendants, but I didn’t know them, nor recognize their attire. They were lean, skittish men, who stayed close to their blindfolded liege.
Finding a rockier, less grassy span of the clearing, Hermann dismounted. Taking his lead, the rest of us climbed off our steeds and tied hobbles about their forelegs so they wouldn’t wander far. The leather straps didn’t hurt them, and left them free to graze slowly. I patted the neck of the white stallion and turned to where Hermann knelt. He was piling up fuel and circling it with stones.
“Need a hand?” I asked.
“It’s been years since I lit my own fire,” Hermann said, not really answering the question. He began searching his saddlebags. “If only I can find my flints.”
I pulled one of the stones from the ring around the fuel and held it out to him.
“What’s that?”
“Flint. Well, chert, but the difference is mostly semantic.”
“How can you tell in this light?” Hermann asked, taking the stone.
“All the loose rocks around here came out of the Slagveld cliffs, which only contain shale, limestone, and chert. The structure is wrong for shale and the texture is distinct from limestone.”
Herman struck steel across the stone and got a bright spark. A few more attempts, and his kindling caught light. “Put it back so the ring is complete.” I took the stone and set it in place while my uncle husbanded the embryonic flame to full life. Once the fire cut through the pre-dawn gloom of the clearing, everyone settled down about it.
“So, after breakfast, we should get started,” my father said.
“Normally,” King Alvar said, “This would be limited to only to men who’d gone through the rite themselves.”
“If you want to pass through my Kingdom on your way home…” Hermann started.
Alvar raised a hand. “I said normally. In this case, we will make an exception. It is not as if the rite has any secret elements to it.”
“I had one question that I sort of asked before,” I said, “But I want to make sure I’m clear on it.”
“What’s the question?” Alvar asked.
“What counts as a ‘Beast of the Woods’?”
Alvar looked at me in silence.
“Well,” I said, “I ask because ‘beasts’ are normally regarded to be large, but evidently rabbits and stoats count for this rite.”
“I suppose it would be anything you would be able to wear the hide of. We counted your father’s seal, and it never came into the woods.”
“So, if I caught a fish, that would not end the rite?”
“You already asked that question,” Gentian cut in.
“Why would you be so interested in fish?” my father asked.
“Bait,” I said. “I’m no tracker, so I’d need something to lure the beast to me.”
“What kind of beast are you hoping to lure with fish?”
“I have to work with what I can find,” I said.
Alvar re-entered the discussion with a dismissive wave. “We’re not going to make you tan and wear a fish skin if you catch some. You needn’t keep fretting.”
* * *
I ate more than I commonly did at breakfast, well aware that it would be the last easy meal until I completed the Rite. Gloom clung to the understory longer than it did the meadow, and crossing to the trees felt as though I were stepping back into the night. My stride was slow and purposeful as I assayed the trees and stones on the ground. Scooping up a large nodule of chert, I kept walking. The distant sound of a burbling creek caught my ear, but I couldn’t tell exactly where it was. Still, water should be running from the Slagveld towards the sea. If I kept walking east, I’d find it. I kept my eyes moving as I walked, taking account of what was available in the area.
It was not too long before the creek revealed itself. Broad, shallow, and clear, it ran over a pebbled bed of round stones. With the gap it made in the larger foliage, smaller stalks grew along the banks. I examined the plants, assessing which ones I could make use of, but left them as I found them. Picking my way across the shallowest spots in the creek, I made for the opposite bank. Just past the water, I found the perfect spot. An outcrop of shale with a flat top clear of plants and easily cleared of debris. I set my nodule of chert down on it and went to attack the small plants along the creek.
“What are you up to?” my father asked from the back of his horse. “Those will make terrible spears.”
“I need rope,” I said, hefting several saplings onto my shoulder. Leaning them against my outcrop, I began stripping the bark and bast fibers from the plants. Twisting bast fibers into twine and braiding twine into rope was a slow process, and hard on the fingertips. I broke up the task by harvesting pine resin onto slate sheets, and collecting more stones. Setting up a shelter of limestone, I lit a fire atop my outcrop and fed it the boughs of ash trees. Capping the miniature kiln with my biggest shale sheet, I restricted the flow of air into the burn box. While the wood cooked, I tested my stone against each other to find the hardest and most suitable for use as a hammer.
Flint knapping was not a skill I had practiced before. I knew the theory, but when faced with a lump of chert, putting that theory into practice produced a lot of error. At least I could monitor the progress of my fire and the state of the resin atop the shale as the stone heated up. I produced a lot of sharp flakes that were not the shape I was looking for, but I was already thinking of uses for the pieces. The charcoal turned out much better, and I was able to mix it with the molten resin to make glue. Of course, I still needed rope, which meant going back to twisting bast fibers.
All of this was terribly uninteresting to watch after the first hour or so. The kings and their entourages had dismounted, and a card game had broken out. I didn’t really blame them. After all, I was just sitting there twiddling plants and banging rocks together. Though I was getting better at coaxing forms I preferred from the chert. I had knapped out a few promising speartips, and the sharp slivers that came off had a key role in my new plan. I was smiling as I affixed the sharpest slivers to short sticks with resin glue and twine. They looked like miniature spears as I stacked two dozen of them on my stone outcrop.
“Darts?” Hermann asked, peering over my shoulder.
“No,” I said, an impish grin catching my face.
“So what are they?”
“You’ll see.”
“We’re trying to resolve a bet here.”
“They are stakes for use in a deadfall trap.”
“Nobody wins,” Hermann called as he walked back across the creek.
“But I called stakes,” my father said.
“You also called a pit trap.”
“I was still the closest.”
I went back to the finger-aching task of making rope as the sun continued to march across the sky. I contemplated changing the plan to one that required less rope, but I was already so far along, it seemed foolish. I wasn’t even sure if what I had in mind was even rightly called a deadfall anyway. I shook the thought away and continued making rope. I needed enough of it sturdy enough to hold a good deal of tension.
* * *
It was no surprise that my fingers were bleeding. Working what felt like miles of rough fibers had done a number on the skin. But I’d affixed the stakes to a grid of sticks, and had enough rope to suspend it from a stout branch, even with a rock weighing down the staked trap. Assuming, of course, the rope held. As I hunted for a good spot to set my trap, rope coiled around my torso, I could see the catastrophe. Most likely, the rope would snap while I was trying to get the trap hoisted. I could also see my poor abused fingers letting go while I was working at it. My stomach growled in hunger, and I was sore from the poor patch of ground I’d slept on.
The sight of a perfect bough buoyed my spirits. If nothing else, it meant I could stop carrying the trap. Throwing the rope over the fork in the stout branch, I began staging everything. I still needed bait and weight, but everything else was at hand. Weight was easy, one good sized chunk of limestone, and I was good. Bait was harder. That involved coaxing a fish out of one of the creeks with only a crude line and hook. The hook wasn’t even a real hook, it was a sharp sliver of wood tied in the line such that it might snag in the mouth of a fish that took a bite. And that meant I needed bait to catch my bait. That was easy enough, worms and grubs were not that rare. Though convincing a fish to take a bite seemed nigh impossible.
I’m fairly sure I’d nodded off, because I mistook the first few tugs on the line as part of the dream. Since dreams run away once awake, I soon forgot what it was I’d been dreaming about. Without a reel, I grabbed the line and pulled. Splashing and sprays of water showed the struggles of the silver-scaled specimen I’d snagged. I prayed my handmade twine would hold as I drew the animal closer. It flopped and flapped its tail about as I drew it from the water, but was smaller than I’d hoped. Still, I wasn’t going to go back to wait for something else to bite.
The shape of my knife wasn’t conducive to gutting fish, but I had plenty of razor sharp chert shards up to the task. Since I’d never cleaned a fish before, processing it into meaty bits, bloody bits, and bony bits was messier than I’d envisioned. I did eventually separate the meat from the parts that weren’t as desirable to eat, heaping each on their own sheet of slate. I washed off my hands in the creek and walked back to where the trap was staged. As I set about prepping the trigger, my mind envisioned all the ways the trap could fail. The most likely were the lattice of stick collapsing under the weight of the rock, the ropes snapping, or the trigger not holding. Or, possibly the trigger could hold too well and not drop the weighted grid of stakes when something took the bait.
I pushed the thoughts aside and began hauling on the rope. My fingers immediately remembered all of the pains from making it, and ached disproportionately to the force being applied. The stone wasn’t too heavy to lift, but the branch and the root made for poor pullies when my coarse rope was dragged over them. I winced at every protesting noise my rope made, and the burr of it being dragged over bark. I’d expected it to snap from the tension, but now the prospect of ripping the rope through friction came to the fore. I pulled steadily, backing away from the tree, and the weighted grid of stakes rose free from the ground. The closer I could get it to the branch, the more force it would hit with, so I continued to pull, even as I reached the trigger assembly. A separate piece of twine running under where the stakes hung would be the tripwire. If I could remember how the notched sticks went together with the tree root. With my aching hands gripping the rope holding up the weight, I began to see a problem with the plan.
Tying the rope to a root with a slip knot, I looked over the trigger I’d prepared and tried to figure out how to set it up while holding the weight of the trap. I ended up setting it up close to where I’d tied the slip knot, and accepting the loss of a few inches of height from releasing the knot to get a working trigger. With everything tense and taut, I crouched there, listening to the creaking and waiting for it all to come crashing down. The wind rustled the leaves, and the rope continued to protest, but so far it was holding. I crept over to where I’d left the fish guts and pushed the shale under the trap with the butt of my fishing rod. I wasn’t going to put myself under that thing to bait it.
Picking up the shale sheet with the meat on it, I hurried back to the outcrop. A new fire wasn’t that hard to get going, and I set the shale over the flames. Resting my back against an ash tree, I gently flexed my poor fingers.
“So what are you planning to do with this part of the fish?”
I looked up at my father. The lack of an expression on his bearded face told me the question was born of boredom more than anything else.
“I was planning to eat it for lunch.”
“So not bait.”
“The guts have more scent to draw in predators than the fillets do,” I said. We both looked at the broken chunks of fish flesh heating up on the rock. It wasn’t really a pair of fillets, but I didn’t have to proper tools or experience to carve those. It was also the first time I was cooking, well, anything. It was fairly emblematic of the whole experience so far. I had a mental image that worked well in theory, but the execution was nowhere near as neat. I had never done anything in my whole plan before. I kept expecting to hear the trap fail while I was waiting for something to get caught in it. I needed a backup plan. My eyes went to the chert speartips I’d knapped out. With my initial plans changing so often, I wasn’t even sure what I’d been thinking when first making them. Still, they were made, so I might as well use them.
After lunch.
This is one of those rare times where I have to admit an error.
Repeatedly, Kord refers to making ‘twine’, when the correct term is ‘cordage’.
Mea culpa. Mea culpa. Mea maxima culpa.
I wasn’t going to say anything, but thank you.
Your kingdom for an edit button?
suspension of disbelief gone!
So you remembered you’re posting this for a group of semi-autistic pedants.
Channeling our Romanian friend:
UCS does not make…twine?
CNN told me it was a noose.
I like the description of both his thinking processes and his creative processes. The latter had always been a large part of the appeal of the “Little House” books when I was a kid. How to butcher a hog or carry out other frontier survival tasks was fascinating to a 20th century suburban girl.
I spent a lot of time doing research to get this part right… which is why the cordage error irks me so.
Flint. Well, chert, but the difference is mostly semantic.
LIES!
/toomanyfailedknappingattempts
Well ackschually..
Go ahead, knap a chert spear point. I’ll wait.
Non-flint chert stone speartips are common enough.
The problem is you didn’t spend 10,000 hours knapping stone like your life depended upon it.
Someone else Enaced our labor tens of thousands of years ago. Some persisted until relatively recently.
Though the idiot reporter on the first link got the relationship between flint and chert backwards.
https://babylonbee.com/news/hollywood-rushes-to-make-pedophilia-acceptable-before-theyre-outed-by-ghislaine-maxwell
Unfortunately, this is barely parody.
LOL
a new streaming series about an 11-year-old girl defying her family’s outdated traditions by dancing sensually
Do I even want to know what this is about?
Do you need to blow out an artery?
Depends on whose artery it is.
+ .223 hydrostatic shock
You want something from the Bee that is no joke?
https://babylonbee.com/news/american-voted-best-place-in-world-to-get-rich-by-writing-about-how-bad-it-is-while-living-there
Bloom County did it during the Reagan years.
Good job Bee. I absolutely hate that woman.
They are on FIRE today.
Wow, nobody’s here today. I hope they’re all okay and just enjoying themselves somewhere.
Just got here.
Still enjoying the story.
Only one more chapter left after this.
That always leaves me with mixed emotions. Happy because I see how it all turns out, and disappointed that it’s over.
The chert/flint knapping bit led me away for a bit.
That and I don’t have much to say at the moment, other than looking forward to the next installment.
Did you reach a conclusion on your sojourn?
Not really. It was more of a meandering about.
Though, you might find this site interesting on one of your road trips:
https://www.donsmaps.com/meadowcroft.html
https://www.heinzhistorycenter.org/exhibits/meadowcroft-rockshelter
We visited some years back and enjoyed it.
Are you two saying there was no point to that discussion?
At least no one left with a chip on their shoulder.
Sorry to flake out like that, lots of non-keyboard-adjacent work today.
The puns are getting a little sharp,
They see me trollin’…
Biden took part in 11 debates during the primary season. Most were against a crowded field of candidates, but the final debate, on March 15, was just Biden and Sen. Bernie Sanders. The president claimed to see a big difference between the last debate and those that came before.
“Nobody thought that he was even going to win,” Trump said. “Because his debate performances were so bad. Frankly, his best performance was against Bernie. We’re going to call for a drug test, by the way, because his best performance was against Bernie. It wasn’t that he was Winston Churchill because he wasn’t, but it was a normal, boring debate. You know, nothing amazing happened. And we are going to call for a drug test because there’s no way — you can’t do that.” …
“Is this like a prizefight, where beforehand you have a test?”
“Well, it is a prizefight,” Trump answered. “It’s no different from the gladiators, except we have to use our brain and our mouth….”
Trump based his call entirely on his own observations and not on any actual knowledge of Biden’s actions. “All I can tell you is that I’m pretty good at this stuff,” he said. “I look. I watched him in the debates with all of the different people. He was close to incompetent, if not incompetent, and against Bernie, he was normal … and I say, ‘How does that happen?’”
Interesting. The Dems have started floating various unprecedented requirements for the debates, in the hopes of making it look like Trump is refusing to debate.
So is he getting ahead of them, issuing his own demands, in the hopes of making it look like Biden is refusing to debate?
There are already Dems saying that any debate with Trump just “legitimizes” him, so its getting more obvious they don’t want a debate at all. And maybe even willing to take the hit for refusing to debate.
The legitimizing thing is beyond the pale. He’s the fucking incumbent President, it doesn’t get more “legitimate” than that.
Dems: we beg to differ.
I think this is the classic undersell overdeliver technique. they are going to set the bar so low for the debate that if Biden only pisses himself onstage instead of full on shits himself he will be lauded as the greatest debate mind the country has ever produced by the press.
Im back uncivil
No power
Brisk 25mph but no rain and spots of sun
Ill try to upload some video when we get power
Supposed to have heavy rain tonight but ill take it
Yard is a terrible mess but since we got no damage or enjuries im not complaining
Good read uncivil
Helped me pass some time
Glad to hear it.
Glad you rode it out safe Suthen,
Thanks for checking in. I was wondering how you were doing.
Glad to hear things are not so bad.
Hope ya get your power back on soon.
I was thinking about you last night while I was watching the weather. Good to know.
Good luck on the power!
Glad to hear you’re safe man.
Good to know. And you were right, bitch got an attitude real quick.
Thank yall
It was pretty hairy for a few hours
Its like battle…long stretches of boredom punctuated with a few minutes of terror
All over now
If you need a few days respite I know a quiet place. You and Mrs would certainly be welcome
You still have enough beer, right?
If you go to Politico.com and look at their presidential forecast, they’re predicting “The Presidency leans in favor of the Democrats.” But when you click on that box to get the details, all you get is this sentence:
“An unexpected error has occurred.”
This could be their commentary the day after the election.
Now that did make me laugh out loud
Likewise.
Completely OT, but probably the best thread to ask. Has anyone here tried the Stygian: Reign of the Old Ones computer game? Lovecraftian RPG based in the 20’s. I know it got some rough reviews when it was launched due to some bugs, but it’s on sale on GOG for $7.50.
He’s going to make the XFL into the Woke Football League just like the NFL is now isn’t he?
Out of respect for Jacob Blake & his family we’ll postpone our
@projectrock @underarmour PR3 launch today. I’ll keep you posted on our relaunch date.
Unbelievable we’re here again.
Shot 7xs. In the back.
In front of his kids.
There’s no progress without humanity.
Related.
Several NFL teams canceled practices on Thursday to focus instead on social activism in the wake of the officer-involved shooting of Jacob Blake.
One of the first to cancel its practice was the Washington Football Team, according to TMZ Sports. …
“Jason Wright and I worked this afternoon to develop a response that has the right balance between the business of football and being truly thoughtful about the social injustice we witnessed with this latest incident in Wisconsin,” Rivera reportedly said on Thursday.
“We went to Mr. Snyder with our plan for tomorrow and we were given his complete support and approval,” he added.
“In place of our practice at FedEx Field,” Rivera exclaimed, “the players, coaches and football staff will meet as a football family and we will continue our open dialogue on the issues of racism and social injustice in our country.”
If only you would concentrate on playing football your team might not suck.
that’s honestly hilarious and a fantastic excuse to avoid a press conference about mr. Snyder’s latest leaked escapades.
“If only you would concentrate on playing football your team might not suck.”
I’m finally free of that fucking team. Finally. Thank you so much Woke Brigades for breaking my chains. I came across the typical WAS August Kool Aid by accident. Defense looks ferocious. Man we have great running backs. Passing offense looks shaky, as does passing defense, but MAN WE ARE GONNA BE PHYSICAL AND TOUGH.
Then you give up 300 passing yards and 3 TDs, and can’t break the 200 passing yard mark till garbage time down by 15. But man the other team really felt those crushing body blows from ancient Adrian Peterson.
Pro sports are an unnecessary luxury good. Times get hard and / or they alienate their audiences, they get dropped instantly. I hope they end up back where they were in the 50s – players had to drive cabs or do farm work to support themselves in the off season.
That would be wonderful.
the social injustice we witnessed with this latest incident in Wisconsin
Nothing like jumping to conclusions before the facts are sorted out.
I bet they did nothing in response to the murders of Daniel Shaver, Zachary Hammond, James Boyd, Kelly Thomas, Justine Diamond, et al.
I wonder why that is?
How many people get shot every day in this country?
Apparently not enough
I would say, way too many of the wrong ones, not enough of the right ones.
is everybody’s minds just broken? What has our society become? I’m not joking I get being outraged about arbitrary and senseless police violence, but what do these people think the police is and what do they actually want? Because it’s really not clear to me at all and I doubt it’s clear to them.
we’re coming apart at the seams here. As with every society in history, the degradation is slow and safe until it isn’t.
There’s a point where the facade shimmers and then shatters.
Bak’s sandpile
I would read these but I’m waiting to see whether the author finishes or croaks first.
I keed, I keed. We’ll all be dead of covid/mask asphyxiation/race riots/climate chimichangas/TDS in a couple years anyway.
They are all written. They are just posting a chapter a week. It’s been automated, so no one need be around for the rest to drop
But then how will you update them to keep them woke with the times?!
In the future, all media will be digitized and streamed so that wrongthink can be edited or stricken in real time.
Speaking of that… a song that should resonate here.
Nice one. Apparently I need to check out more from The Interrupters.
Plate manufacturers should be paying commissions to antifa. Went with the tree planting logic and pulled the trigger.
What did you order?
Hesco 3810.
Spendy, but like 1/2 the weight of the AR550 plates I got. I didn’t see anything about shelf life.
From what I’ve read, the shelf life is more about guarantee than actual performance.
It is speedy, but I’m concerned about spall with AR500. My criteria was SS109/7.62×39/30-06 which I think covers most of a civil unrest threat. In an ideal world with unlimited funds, I’d pick up some of those lightweight IV plates but those are even pricier.
Speaking of plates, there was a pic on Twitter of some guy shot by a rubber bullet in the abdomen below the plate. Was thinking one of those older kevlar frag vests (that we had to wear as if it provided any protection against rifle rounds) would have done a better job. Or some other full coverage soft armor.
Sigh… I remember being pissed when they took all of our Vietnam era OD puffy flak vests and gave us the thinner, denser, PASGT frag vests. The old ones were preferred as they made a more comfortable pillow or seat cushion.
Full coat was one of the important criteria I used. I tried to make an educated decision at the time, but it was like information overload.
I saw that pic. Ouch.
I’ve been thinking about getting body armor, but I really want to be able to try it on first. I think there’s a couple of vendors here in town that carry some, but who knows what their inventory is at this point.
Good choice. What carrier?
Pitchfork because they had ranger green in stock. Was tempted for the SwissCamo but wanted a solid subdued color. I’ve got multi cam/marpat/woodland pouches I can hang if I want a pattern.
If it doesn’t work, maybe something else will be in stock by then.
Good stuff. Here’s hoping that you won’t have to use it live.
Me too.
Governor Tony Evers
@GovEvers
I want to be very clear: we should not tolerate violence against any person. I’m grateful there has already been swift action to arrest one person involved. The individual or individuals whose actions resulted in this tragic loss of life must be held accountable.
Didn’t he turn himself in? This fucker needs to resign, immediately. Making statements like this before you know anything is only going to cause more trouble.
Did they arrest the asshole who was coming after the kid with a pistol before he got his arm blown off? How about the rest of the mob trying to kill him? No?
Then “The individual or individuals whose actions resulted in this tragic loss of life ” have not been held accountable.
I wish he was up for reelection. Seems like the only crazy Dem Governor up this year is Roy Cooper (NC).
Whoever said that Trump just locked up Wisconsin was probably right. Support for Black Lives Matter in the key swing state of Wisconsin has plummeted from +25 approval to zero. Before the riots in Kenosha.
The city has been plagued by rioting, looting, violence and arson all week following the police killing of Jacob Blake, culminating in the Tuesday night shooting of three BLM protesters, two fatally, by a 17-year-old who acted in self-defense.
Must be some nazi rag.
Making statements like this before you know anything is only going to cause more trouble.
Is there any doubt Evers knows exactly what happened? The Dems are going to push their narrative regardless of reality or what lives they destroy in the process. Looks at this tweet from Pressley… it’s like something from an alternative universe.
https://twitter.com/MrAndyNgo/status/1299041019632050176
….forgot to include it…
Isn’t she one of the Pro-Hitler reps? She liked his Jewish Policies right?
the only viable response is “fuck off, commie”
Linking to a “Kill a Commie for Mommy” T-shirt is also acceptable.
She’s just begging for a defamation lawsuit.
Indeed.
The courts have essentially ruled that Politicians are immune from defamation law. (via qualified immunity)
The ADL found no link to extremism in Rittenhouse’s social media? That just makes him a well-disciplined white supremacist.
Ain’t war hell?
Chaz
Replying to
@MrAndyNgo
According to police records he is Hispanic
You mean white-Hispanic. . .
Razorfist is definitely here, twice now he has used the Steve Smith Term, but also the Font, right at 3:00, Look Closelier…..
https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=VRnjRJa5lDY
Sorry, google images of “Frankie Say Relax.”
It predates us by a few decades.
Realx. Don’t do it.
Some of the references here are old..but he did drop a Hat and Hair plug…but it could have been generic.
/Kicks sand, walks away…….
Yusef was not an ’80s kid.
Wham! says otherwise….
https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=ELflyACZXQQ
Choose Life!1
Okay, that was funny.
Milo – He died doing what he loved. Chasing minors.
“White man uses N-word. Gets karma from Hispanic child.”
For more than 99.98% of his life, Hispanic child never shot anyone. Why should we condemn him for this aberrant mistake?
Harsh, but funny.
^
“In place of our practice at FedEx Field,” Rivera exclaimed, “the players, coaches and football staff will meet as a football family and we will continue our open dialogue on the issues of racism and social injustice in our country.”
Zzzzzzzzzzzzz…
It is an orgy of self destructive behavior.
I imagine all the linemen sitting in a circle talking about their feelings.
Sometimes man… do you just sit and wonder what the point of it all is?
Some days, it’s just too much. Pass the tissues please.
I imagine it being just like the few times they went to class in college. Sitting there daydreaming while a Charlie Brown teacher drones on in the background.
Yeah, like Richie Incognito and Jonathan Martin.
Mongo just pawn in game of life.
Where’s the struggle session pic?
I’m trying to picture Belichick saying that…
He should outsource it to his Alaskan Klee Kai.
Hey, Nike did well with the draft, may as well expand his responsibilities.
You could say that again.
Hey, Nike did well with the draft, may as well expand his responsibilities.
Hey, Nike did well with the draft, may as well expand his responsibilities.
Hey, Nike did well with the draft, may as well expand his responsibilities.
Hey, Nike did well with the draft, may as well expand his responsibilities.
Squirrels.
Impressive. When I accidentally double-click a post, it rejects the second one. Five duplicate posts must be the high score.
My trackpad is losing its mind, I think – I’m getting phantom clicks, thus the rare quintuple-click.
Have you checked the thermostat?
Nike did not do anything about the squirrels. Bad dog.
Real Salt Lake’s owner is not happy with MLS: https://www.bbc.com/sport/football/53937541
The story is mostly about a player brought to tears by the owner’s response and how the players have no power. But, I thought the owner’s comments were interesting:
“Owner Dell Loy Hansen said he felt “disrespected” by the postponement…Billionaire Hansen said the cancellation would mean he would reduce his level of investment in the club and make redundancies across the business.
“We’re all sitting here at an organisation trying to build support and love around a team that supports the city,” he told a local radio station.
“All I can say is they supported other issues nationally. They clearly did not support our city or our organisation. That’s fairly clear.
“It’s a moment of sadness. It’s like somebody stabbed you and you’re trying to figure out a way to pull the knife out and move forward. That’s what it feels like. The disrespect is profound to me personally.”
Shorter Hansen:
“Do you morons actually believe you can gut the schedule and the fan base, and there will be no consequences?”
Furiously looks up all of Don’s articles to see what else he predicted!
Another good entry.
Just one left for this yarn.